


Let It Go

by JenNova



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek, Feelings Porn, Future Fic, M/M, Top Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenNova/pseuds/JenNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek doesn't do this very often. Well, not the part where he fucks Stiles. They do that a lot. They have a pretty healthy sex life for a couple of guys who've been together for ten years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Go

**Author's Note:**

> A little while a ago I incepted Dan (queerly-it-is) into writing bottom!Derek with the promise I would also write some. His is...a lot kinkier than mine. But here it is.

Derek doesn't do this very often. Well, not the part where he fucks Stiles. They do that a lot. They have a pretty healthy sex life for a couple of guys who've been together for ten years.

It's not Derek bottoming that's unusual, either. They switch off regularly, depending on who's in the mood for what. Contrary to social beliefs there's a lot they can do _without_ putting their cocks inside each other. Variety is the spice of life, after all.

No. The unusual thing is this: Stiles sitting up against the headboard, little leverage for him to thrust, and Derek sliding up and down over him, making it slow and torturous for both of them.

“Jesus,” Stiles breathes, head falling back as Derek squeezes around him. His fingers clutch at Derek's hips, ten points of perfect contact.

Derek rises and falls and feels the pleasure burn up his insides, every inch of him sweating, every bit of him craving Stiles' touch.

He catches Stiles' mouth with his, savouring the lazy drags of their tongues against each other. Stiles puts a hand into Derek's hair and twists his long fingers in tight, grounding them both. Derek keeps one hand on Stiles' shoulder and the other on the headboard, balancing himself over him, taking himself apart.

“Why now?” Stiles asks, hips twitching. He would move if he could, Derek knows, would make everything fast and hungry.

“Today you -” Derek presses the words into Stiles' hair, his cheek, his ear. “You could've -”

“But I didn't,” Stiles says, fingers tightening almost painfully on Derek's hip. Derek wishes he could bruise. His other hand slides from Derek's neck to his cheek, cupping it so gently, like he thinks Derek might break. “I didn't, Derek, I'm still here. I'll always be here.”

“You -” Derek's breath hitches as shifts and comes down at a different angle, sparks shooting up his spine. “You shouldn't have come back.”

“No,” Stiles says it so sharply that Derek pauses, seated against Stiles, so close their breath is mingling. “I _always_ come back. You _know_ I always come back. Tell me you know that.”

Derek does, _he does_ , and it forces a broken whimper from his mouth. Stiles takes the whimper by force and kisses hard into Derek's mouth, biting and licking and laying claim to everything that's his.

“I know,” Derek says, moving again. “I just – I have to -”

“I know,” Stiles' hands smooth down Derek's sides, calming a shivering, trembling shudder Derek didn't know was rippling through him. “I'm not going anywhere. I can't go anywhere.”

And that's why Derek is doing this now, why he doesn't do it very often. Stiles hates not being able to move, hates losing his freedom, and Derek will never, never take that away from him. But sometimes – sometimes Stiles will see the look in Derek's eyes, will know what it means, will know why it's happening, and he'll let Derek push him down, let himself be still for Derek, so Derek knows that he's safe.

“Now fuck me like you mean it,” Stiles says, words curling into Derek's ears, and Derek feels his cock twitch against his abdomen.

Derek slams down and Stiles laughs, a little breathless thing that Derek never wants to stop hearing. The laugh ends on a moan as Derek adjusts his seat for the best leverage, the best angle, and starts moving harder, faster. Stiles' hands grip at his sides, fingers slipping over slick skin, and Derek pushes into the touch.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, eyes raking down Derek's body. “Come on. You're perfect.”

Stiles never tells Derek that he's gorgeous or beautiful or any other slice of flattery, only calls him perfect or good or any of one hundred superlatives. It makes Derek feel shocky to his core, the way Stiles knows Derek doesn't want to hear his looks praised – that that's something that sets off a ticking timebomb of self-hate in his chest – the way Stiles didn't have to be told.

Stiles is generally quiet during sex, unless they're having what he refers to as embarrassing couple sex where they talk through their day while fucking, but he knows that at times like these Derek needs to hear him, needs to hear all of him.

“Shit,” Stiles grunts as Derek rolls down onto him. “Jesus, that's good. More, Derek, please.”

_I can't give you more_ , Derek thinks desperately, meeting Stiles' wondering-wide eyes. _You already have all of me_. He can't say it, Stiles teases him for being too romantic, but he can think and Stiles can see it in his eyes, in the blush high on his cheeks. Stiles smiles at him, soft and private, and takes another kiss from Derek, steals his breath away.

“Can you -” Derek moves his hand from the headboard and cups Stiles' jaw, presses a thumb at the corner of Stiles' mouth. “Touch me, please, Stiles I need to feel -”

Stiles cuts him off by wrapping a hand firmly around Derek's cock, gripping him just right, and Derek moans and drops his head forward to press their foreheads together. His orgasm is close, roiling under his skin, and he knows Stiles is close too, can feel it in the quivering of his body under Derek.

“I want you to come apart on me,” Stiles says, eyelashes fluttering down over his cheeks as he watches his hand on Derek's cock. “I want you know I'm here because I'm coming inside you. I want you to take yourself apart so I can put you back together with my mouth. C'mon, Derek, let go.”

Derek bites down hard on his bottom lip and fucks down onto Stiles' cock, feels the head of it brushing over his prostate, feels the building, rising, tingling wave of heat pushing outwards over his skin. He cries out when Stiles circles his fingers around the head of his slick cock, coaxing him without words now.

_Let it go_.

Derek comes down hard against Stiles, his back bowing and his muscles quivering as his orgasm causes him to fall apart from the inside out – all the little pieces of him scattering around the room.

“Fuck,” Stiles whispers, his hips moving up in tiny jerks. “ _Fuck_.” And his hand is still on Derek when he comes, the heat of it sparking trembling aftershocks through all the jigsaw puzzle pieces that make up Derek Hale.

Derek comes back to earth with his face buried in Stiles' neck, breathing in the thick scent of them, and he's still shuddering when Stiles urges his head up to kiss him, to gather up the pieces of Derek with his lips and tongue. His arm is firm around Derek's waist, holding him close – like he can pull Derek into his skin.

It's not just Derek that needs the reminder, needs this to make himself whole again, because he could've died too and it never stops amazing him how much Stiles needs him to be alive, and his, and safe. How much Stiles wants that.

“Stop scaring the shit out of me,” Stiles says when he finally breaks the kiss. “You're supposed to be retired from this shit.”

“Trouble finds me,” Derek says, his voice rough in his throat from ill-use.

“Trouble finds _us_ ,” Stiles corrects, fingers sliding loosely through Derek's hair, down his neck, over his shoulder. “Maybe we shouldn't leave the house.”

“We can order everything online now,” Derek agrees, mouthing down Stiles' jaw, tracing his neck, pressing against the pulse there.

“I don't think the pack would approve,” Stiles mumbles, his characteristic post-orgasm sleepiness loud in his voice.

“I'm not sleeping with the pack,” Derek says, lifting his head. Stiles is smiling at him, the soft private smile again, and he kisses it for a moment, savouring it.

They move reluctantly apart and Derek grabs the wet washcloth he prepared before they started, knowing he'd be lucky if Stiles didn't pass out straight away. He cleans them up, ignoring Stiles' protests when the washcloth is cold, and falls down on the bed again, fully sated.

Stiles rolls over, pushes Derek onto his side and wraps his arms around him. Derek pushes back into the circle of Stiles arm, lets himself grip at one of Stiles' hands a little too tightly. Stiles' nose rubs against his hair before settling in crook of Derek's neck, he's picked up a few habits from all the werewolves in his life.

“I'm not ever going to leave you,” Stiles says, sleepy, against Derek's neck. He presses a kiss behind Derek's ear and settles more comfortably behind him. “Never. Not ever.”

And when Stiles's breathing evens out, his chest rising and falling against Derek's back, Derek squeezes Stiles' hand and says: “I know.”


End file.
